Notre amour
by BethanyKatherine
Summary: Firelight conversation...pictures from the past...
1. Part I

He sat in front of the fireplace, staring at a black-and-white photograph of his parents, smiling and waving at him, having no idea that someday soon their precious son would be orphaned by their deaths. The image began to blur and distort, and he started before he realized it was the tears in his eyes causing this. He sniffed softly, and firmly told himself to calm down and get a grip on himself.

"Harry?" He nearly dropped the picture in his rush to turn around and see—

"Hermione, hey."

"Are you alright, Harry?" she asked, setting her books down on the table as she made her way over to his side.

"Yeah," he lied, wiping his nose quickly on his sleeve, "I'm—yeah."

She came around the chair and sat on the arm-rest, looking down at the picture in his hands. "Oh," she said, very softly. He twisted around and looked up at her. "I know you miss them," she said quietly. He looked back down quickly. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

"You didn't do it," he said swiftly. He sat anticipating that strange emotion that rose in his chest whenever talk of his missing parents arose.

But it didn't come.

He looked back up at Hermione again. "I do miss them," he said softly. "I wish sometimes that I could just see them..." and Hermione knew he didn't mean seeing their picture. "I wish I could be with them, you know?"

"But they're gone, Harry," she said sadly. "They're not coming back."

"I know," he said quickly. "I didn't mean that."

Hermione shivered, feeling suddenly cold, as if someone had tickled her spine with a feather carved of ice. "What do you mean?" she asked tentatively.

"I mean I could–"

"Harry!" Hermione nearly fell off her armrest. "Are you saying you'd die just to see your parents?" Her eyes were impossibly wide.

"Well," Harry began uncomfortably, feeling his face burning, even though he was a safe enough distance away from the fire, "you wouldn't understand what it's like, would you?" His voice had found an indignant vein. "How would you know, you didn't grow up without a f–"

"Harry, we are your family," Hermione told him, putting her hand over his, under which lay his parents' flattened photograph. Harry glanced at their hands for a moment, then regarded her, losing himself in her eyes, deep with sincerity. "We're your family, Harry," she repeated. "I am your family. Ron, Lupin, Ginny, the Weasleys, Fred and George, we're your family."

"I guess I knew that," he said softly, staring consideringly into the fire. "Thanks."

"Anytime, my friend," she said, resting her had on his shoulder.


	2. Part II

"Hermione," Harry whispered to the brunette on his shoulder. "Are you awake?"  
"Mmph," she answered, wrinkling her nose.  
"Are you sleepy?" he asked again, rephrasing.  
"Sort of," came the less muffled reply, as she began to life her head.  
"Shh, don't move," he whispered to her. He put his arms around her. "Just relax," he said soothingly. He pulled her gently into his lap, holding her safely in his arms. Her head lolled onto his shoulder again.  
The fire was making him drowsy. As Hermione rearranged herself, it struck Harry suddenly how funny and compact Hermione was. He laughed, softly.  
"What?" Hermione asked, her voice very muffled.  
"You're like a cat," he chortled sleepily.  
Hermione turned her head to look up at him.  
"You're an okay kid, Harry Potter," she told him. "You're the hero we need."  
Harry slid his eyes and looked back down at her. "Really?" he asked. "You think so?" Hermione nodded against him. He looked back into the fire, then, almost silently, "I hope so."  
"I know so," Hermione said. Harry looked over at the top of her fluffy brown head, unsure whether she had heard his last comment to not.  
They remained there, peacefully, for a while, Harry losing himself in the room of the simmering embers, Hermione dozing angelically in his arms.  
"Hermione," he asked after a spell.  
She nodded to show she was listening.  
"You said you were my family..."  
She nodded again.  
"How're we related?"  
There was a two-second pause. Hermione slowly lifted her head and looked at him. "What?"  
"You and me," he clarified, staring adamantly into the fire. "What's our relationship?"  
"We're best friends," she said at once, uncertainly.  
"Is that all?" he asked her, addressing the glowing embers in the fireplace.  
"isn't that what you want? Is a best friend not enough for you?" She was more awake now, leaning forward to look at him.  
"Well..." he said, appearing to be deeply considering something.  
"What?" she asked, watching him curiously, while distant, hesitant anxiety built somewhere within her.  
Now he looked at her. Without another word, his eyes closed and he kissed her. Gently, sweetly, quickly. But truly. He was staring into the fire, the embers, or maybe something else, making his cheeks glow rosy. Silence reigned. "I know what you mean," she said at last, speaking to the fire. Harry looked over, and waited for her to meet his eyes. When she did, he waited for certainty to appear in her eyes. And when he found it, he kissed her again. "So how are we related?" she asked him. "Are we best friends still?" she asked between kissed. "Close friends with benefits? Boyfriend-girlfriend? A couple?" He kissed her once more, consideringly, and then, "I think we're us. Just us. We don't need a fancy title to know who or what we are. We're Harry and Hermione. We're best friend. Friends who love—" "—who love each other," Hermione put in. "Yeah," Harry agreed. She rested her head against his, and he held her, and they watched the embers glow and flare and fade. "Do you still miss your parents?" she asked. "Yeah," he said after a time of thought. "I always will." "I thought so," she said. "Are you cold?" he asked suddenly. "Not in the least."  
  
THE END 


End file.
